


Hook Man

by katied4568



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Supernatural
Genre: 666 words so it's halloween themed i guess, M/M, Not Really Anything, it started as a group thing but i wrote my own, there isn't much kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 18:53:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8412769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katied4568/pseuds/katied4568
Summary: John and Alex are making out in John's car when something sP00kY happens





	

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing the middle section of this to put it together with parts other people wrote, but I wanted to write the whole thing by myself on the side, so, here.

“John.” I murmur his name, low and soft, as he pulls his lips off of mine for a short breather.

No one knows about our relationship, so if we want to do anything like we’re doing tonight, we have to drive out to this narrow, hidden road in the woods. Neither of us enjoys the drive, but what we do at the destination makes it all worth it.

“What?” He looks at me, a confused expression on his face. “Alex, you’re staring.”

I’m always thinking. There simply isn’t a moment that my train of thought stops. However, when I’m kissing John, when I’m touching John, when I’m looking at John, he is the only person riding that train. I realize with a jolt that I have, indeed, been staring, lost, at his freckled face. 

“Sorry. I drifted.” Because the train never stops, I have a tendency to lose myself inside my own head, lose all awareness of my surroundings, and our friends have affectionately deemed this tendency “drifting”. 

“No shit. Wanna go back to what we were doing before?”

“You know it.” I’m straddling John’s lap and and I pull his chin up to resume kissing him. We start slow, but speed up. Before either of us realizes what is happening, the kiss is fast and firm, and then we stop. 

There is a noise. A high-pitched, eerie, screeching noise. I pull back and we focus. John checks his phone and I follow. We look around for animals, a broken toy from McDonald’s belonging to John’s little siblings, ANYTHING that could produce such a noise, but find nothing.

“Alex, this is weird.” John shuddered.

“Relax. It’s probably the radio. I’ll just turn it off.”

I get off his lap, sit in the passenger’s seat and lean forward, pressing the power button on the cracked radio of the old car. The screech doesn’t stop. “Turn it off, Alex.”

“I did.”

We sit speechless, listening to the unnatural noise that the radio is NOT the source of. John looks over at me, and expression of terror and uncertainty on his face, usually filled with sunshine. He looks back at the radio, then at the keys in the ignition. He turns the 2000 Honda Accord completely off, so as to eliminate any other car functions as the source of the noise. But it persists.

Suddenly, through an apparent onslaught in bravery, John undoes his seatbelt. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” I grab his arm in an attempt to hold him back as he opens the car door, but he wrenches it free. 

“I’m finding the source of--well, whatever this is. Stay here.”

He gets out of the car and turns around to remind me to stay put once more (I’m often very impulsive), but stops dead in his tracks upon spinning. 

“What is it?”

“Alex. Stay.”

Being myself, I immediately undo my seatbelt and practically jump out of the car and over to John in a dangerous mixture of curiosity and adrenaline. I, too, stop in my tracks when I see the three long scratches on that back car door.

“Wha…?”

John turns to check for people and taps my shoulder distractedly.

I turn around.

We see him. Or it. A tall, thin man with a hook for a hand and a black top hat.

We freeze.

After a few moments of utter silence, John turns to me and says simply, “What the fuck?” I turn to him and shrug, shakily, my eyes wide with horror. When we turn back, any feelings of fear we had intensify by about a million times.

The hook-man is gone.

“Okay, what the ACTUAL fuck?” We are visibly trembling and frantically looking around, trying to find the man that was so clearly standing in the woods moments ago. The screeching noise is back, and suddenly there’s a scream that resembles my boyfriend's. I feel a panic rising in the pit of my stomach. I look back at John.

But John isn’t there.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun Fact: My friend decided our characters should be gay guys and I convinced the group toname them John and Alex. Sneaky, right?


End file.
